


Sleep and Other Things

by ToWhomItMayConcern



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Classic Tropes, F/M, Fingering, Fluff, Grinding, Hair Pulling, Language, Light Spanking, Mentions of Masturbation, Metal Fingers bby, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Smut, sergeant kink, sub/dom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24692797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToWhomItMayConcern/pseuds/ToWhomItMayConcern
Summary: You can't pinpoint the moment your friendship shifted. The moment when you started to look at Bucky as something more than just a friend.
Relationships: Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader, Bucky Barnes/Reader, Bucky Barnes/You, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 233





	Sleep and Other Things

This sucks.

Royally, royally, royally sucks. 

And if you could choose from any supernatural powers at all known to man, you’d choose the power of sleep. 

Because for the past few nights, it just hasn’t struck you. You’ve tried everything you can think of: punching and kicking away at the bag in front of you in the training room until your knuckles started to bruise, drinking a nice, hot cup of tea, hell even _meditation_. None of it seemed to work in your favor, and you wanted to punch the force that was holding you back from a full night's rest. 

_Please God, or you know, whatever is out there listening. All’s I’m asking a normal fucking sleep schedule, is that too much to ask?_

The blaring flashes sting your eyes with every white, vicious transition of another rerun on TV. It’s the only light in the otherwise dark room, and it’s dimmed with the volume low so that every stupid little background laughter is dull instead of blaring. And judging by the big red 3:30 on your alarm clock, you’ve been awake for approximately ten hours with no hope of a fulfilled slumber. You believe this is your third night in a row. 

You sigh for what seems the hundredth time, flopping onto your right side and shoving your pillow under your arm. The soft fabric and the fresh smell of your favorite laundry detergent is doing nothing to soothe your mind and your body alike, but maybe keeping up the facade that it does will lull your eyes to remain shut and your brain silent; in the back of your mind, annoyingly, you already know that it will not work. 

“Fuck it.” You mutter to yourself and throw your covers off. The floor is slightly chilly against your bare feet, but not too terribly cold, and the compound is stable and quiet; more alone time for you, more time to watch the clock slowly tick by as yet another night—day you should say given the time—drags by thorough dark circles and irritable mood swings. 

The door is silent as you creek it open, though it doesn’t make one sound and you’re grateful for that. No use dragging everyone down with you. 

You’re not exactly sure on what you’re looking for, but it feels right to be where the food is. It’s a start, at least. The good news, too, about going to the kitchen is that it’s not that far from your room, a blessing to you now. 

The hallway is dark, too dark for you weak eyes you realize as you stub your toe on a corner of a wall. “OW—oH fuck _fuck_ what the _fuckity_ fu—”

“Shoulda paid attention, doll.”

You whirl around mid-tantrum, hopping on the uninjured foot rather ungracefully towards the raspy voice you recognize in a heartbeat. 

The root to your problem is sitting there—short, chopped dark hair, eyes that are sometimes grey and others times blue, like a storm and a ocean living and correlating together to create a beautiful color that you often dream of, and built, toned body hiding behind a black tank top and you’re going to assume matching sweatpants—with a coffee mug in his hands, sitting by the kitchen island and stifling a shit-eating grin as you wallow. 

Normally, you’d be very happy to see Bucky. Over the year that you’ve been on the team, Bucky has been nothing but kind to you, even after a rocky start to the friendship. As quiet and closed off as he is, you had managed to weasel your way into his circle; you leave him alone whenever you sense he needs it, not wanting to overwhelm him. Watch TV with him on the couch when it’s just the two of you; sometimes you’d barely say a word to each other at all, happy with the comfortable silence. He jokes around with you if you manage to burn another pancake or whatever concaussion you could scramble up or he’ll invite you to have drinks with him and the others—others being Steve and, despite the pranks and banters, Sam, and so, so much more. It’s as easy as breathing, just being with him, and the comfort and stability that you find in him never fails to put you at ease. 

But it’s like somewhere down the road something shifted. You don’t know when or how it happened, but when it did it hit you like a freight train. There’s a pull towards him when you catch yourself paying extra attention to the way his body moves, alerting yours with a sudden new and ferocious need; the daydreams that come from it are even better. The soft, barely there brushes as you pass by or the barely fingertip touch when you’re standing next to each other. The longing stares that makes you wonder if there ever could be _more_. There’s no denying that you can’t stop looking at him differently now, as more than just the friend you cherish deeply, but as someone who could become more than just. 

Sometimes, you even dream of his hand between your legs. 

What makes this even worse is that you’ll occasionally catch Bucky doing the _same_ thing to you; he may be faster than you in oh so many ways thanks to his enhancements, but there are moments where you catch him looking quickly away and towards whatever was in front or next to him, eyes glaring like he’s—he’s _scolding_ himself. 

_“Sexual tension.” Wanda told you when you first explained your worries to her. “That’s what’s happening.”_

_You shook your head, laughing it off. “Nooo it can’t be Wanda. We’re just—”_

_“Friends?” She smirked._

_“Yes.” You defended. “Just friends. I mean maybe—maybe we’re just going through a phase, and everything will soon go back to normal.”_

_Wanda rolled her eyes with a smirk. “We’ll see.”_

Deep down, you knew that she was right. And that terrified you. Still does, actually. Why would you want to ruin such a good thing over what may be just a stupid, silly crush?

Now, exhausted, frustrated, and hopping around like a moron in the dark, the smug look on his face heavily annoys you more than ever. 

“Thanks.” You snarl. 

He puts his hands up in mock surrender, easily taking in your disdained mood. “Sorry.”

You finally let your foot drop back to the ground, your toe still stinging. Bucky continues to watch you as you limp towards the cabinets and reach for your favorite mug, setting it too harshly down on the marble counter before opening the fridge. 

“Try drinking tea,” he says. “It’ll be better than… _Dr. Pepper_.”

You shrug as you uncap the bottle and pour the sweet soda into your mug. “I’ve already tried that.” You mutter. “Nothing’s been working.”

You hear Bucky shift in his chair, hear the clicks of his metal arm as he stretches it out; he rarely does it when there’s too many people around, letting himself be free with the metal prosthetic. You feel special knowing that he’s comfortable enough to be free in your presence. 

“How long has this been going on?” He asks quietly. 

You lean your back against the counter and bring the cup to your lips. “Almost a full week now.”

You see him nod from your peripheral vision, straightening his back and taking a sip from his own up you didn’t realize he had until now; it smells like green tea, with a hint of something sweeter. Honey, most likely. 

You expect him to ask you more questions but he stays silent as you both take small sips of your drinks. Your eyes are heavy and your body is on the verge of completely slumping against the small space behind you, but you’re still too wired to sleep—okay, Bucky _was_ right on the soda, but you’re not going to admit that to him. 

“Why are you awake?” You ask him. 

He just shrugs. “Same reason as you.”

That gets you to snort. _Yeah right, buddy._

“Tried sparring?” Bucky suddenly breaks the silence, causing you to jump from the intrusion. 

“Sorta.” You iffley say. “Still didn’t help me much…I really don’t know what my problem is.” _Liar._

He hums softly. “Well,” he puffs as he sits up from the stool. “Let’s go then.”

You raise your eyebrows. “ _Really?_ ”

For such a heavy man, it still surprises you when he walks silently towards you, so quietly that if you weren’t looking you’d had no idea if he was moving at all. The familiar smell of his soap overwhelms your senses as he leans in, his left arm stretched to put his cup in the sink. You can’t help but inhale the alluring musk, which causes a shiver to run through your body. 

_“Sexual tension.”_ Wanda’s voice rings through your head. 

God he really does smell good and he’s warm... _stop it_! 

“So?” He scares you again out of your thoughts, and when you look up he’s close. He’s really close—well, closer than you anticipated for only putting away a dish. He’s looking down at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher, but that smirk of his returns and your heart flutters at the close proximity of it. 

You set your now empty mug in the sink next to his with a sigh and nod your head. “Take it easy on me. I’m not exactly coordinated right now.” 

Bucky only chuckles, hearty and gruff, at your warning. “Whatever you say.”

You really like the way he says it. It sounds stupid, but you do. 

He leads the way to the training room, turning every now and then to make sure you’re still following—and that you don’t stub your toe again. 

“Turning the lights on.” Bucky warns you just seconds before the lights blare your vision, making you wince and blink against the onslaught. 

When you can finally make out the shapes moving around, Bucky is already standing in the middle of the mat, watching you with his signature smirk. You can’t help but give him a small closed lip smile of your own as you make your way towards him. 

“I’m totally gonna kick your ass.” You tease with a slight slur.

He grunts, face squished as he rolls his eyes playfully. “Yeah yeah, hurry up.”

“Don’t act like you don’t want to be here, Barnes.” You chide as you start to wrap your knuckles. “You’re the one who suggested this.”

“Doesn’t mean you gotta be a turtle about it.” 

You give him the best glare you can muster as he struggles to hold in his laughter. Your grimace deepens when they finally escape, and his face is really fucking adorable when he laughs like this; without a care in the world. That makes you stare at him longer than necessary as he recovers. 

“Okay I’m sorry!” He gasps, putting his hand up. “I’ll stop, I swear it.”

The scowl doesn’t disappear even as you start to adjust the strings on your sweatpants; tightening them. You know you look like a child right now with the way you’re stomping dramatically heavily towards the ex-assassin, but you’re too tired and slightly agitated to care. 

“Alright,” he huffs. “Just come right at me and don’t hold back. Think you can handle that, doll?”

You smirk despite yourself and prepare a simple stance; attack. “Sure, ice bucket.”

Bucky doesn’t flinch from the playful tease. What he does is pat his chest with a closed knuckle and says, “I’m waiting.”

You watch him, take in his posture and immediately go for the legs. You’re a good agent, not the best, definitely in need of improvement, but you’re good. What you’re sort of forgetting here, a habit with him it seems, is that he is. in fact, a _super_ soldier. 

The air leaves your lungs with an _oof_ as you land flat on your back. His hand, warm flesh that feels like is scorching your skin through your shirt, holds you down by your upper chest. You blink dumbly up at him as you struggle to catch your breath, your body jolted from its heavy, sleepless form. 

“C’mon,” he says your name disappointingly. “You know better than that.”

You roll your eyes and grunt, swatting his hand away and standing yourself up. “I don’t see the point of this.” You complain. “If anything, I feel more awake than tired.”

“Oh you know what the point is.” Bucky scoffs. “Stop complaining and _fight_ me.”

“Fine!” You growl. 

The next charge at him, you honestly thought that you’d get the upper hand. Where he goes to block, you quickly change course and go for a punch. It all happens in a blink of an eye, and suddenly his metal arm is wrapped loosely around your neck in a lock, the other locking your wrists in his wide grip. 

“You’re not even trying.” He breathes in your ear. 

“I _am_.” You say through gritted teeth. 

He finally lets you go with a small chuckle. It makes you angry. “If you’re just going to keep laughing at me then I’m—”

Bucky lunges at you. Your body reacts on instinct and ducks away from his attack, bouncing on your feet to the other side. The muscles in his back strain as he runs his fingers through his hair, flashing you a grin as he turns around. 

“There ya ‘re.” His brooklyn accent runs thick through his praise. 

That praise—and it’s not like you’ve never heard it from him before, always in playful banter—raises goosebumps and there’s no way he _doesn’t_ notice it. You fight the rush of blood flooding to your cheeks. 

“Here,” you try, bouncing around him and playfully trying to grab him, distracting yourself from your own confusing thoughts. “Just stand still and let me punch and kick at you until I pass out.”

He laughs with you and dodges your weak attempts with liquid ease. “Oh I’m sure you’d love that.”

“I would, actually.” 

“You’re jus’ bein’ a sore loser.”

“So what—” You grunt as he slides to his right and pushes your hit lightly away from him. “—if I am.”

You do this for some time, aimlessly throwing weak kicks at his shins as he teases you—you’re really fucking jealous at how he seemingly floats with each bounce to his dodges. You finally manage to knip him around the ankle, causing him to wince and curse. 

“Ha!” You cheer. “I bet that hur—” 

Bucky takes your short moment of victory to sweep around you and kick your legs out from under you. You land ungracefully yet again on the hard mat, but this time you quickly recover and loop your legs around the arm closest to you and pull him down with all your strength. He flips hard on his back, gasping as soon as he makes contact and now you’re the one laughing at him as you have the upper hand. 

“Well Barnes,” you tsk. “Looks like you’re losing your touch.”

“Don’t get cocky.” He warns as his hand flexes still in your grip. “Or else this happens.”

You blink and feel a harsh tug at the back of your neck. Everything is a blur as you feel yourself being lifted and flipped into the air, like you weigh nothing at all. Your eyes automatically shut and your body awaits for the hard impact. 

It doesn’t come. 

Bucky softens your fall by quickly rolling his body into yours and wrapping his arms around you, practically caging you in. Your hands reach for the first solid thing they can find, which happens to be soft skin and hard muscle. His legs cage yours between his, his hair lightly curled and there’s a strangled noise coming from somewhere and holy fuck he’s—

“You alright?” He asks, panting. 

Your breaths mix together as you stare into each other’s eyes. You hear what he says, the words playing through your ears but your brain doesn’t register the nerves to actually respond to him. It feels like you’ve never been this close to him before, not like this anyway. It feels… suffocating. In such a good, intoxicating way that you don’t want him to move. 

And then you realize that the reason why he must be asking that question is because he thinks you’re hurt; that strangled cry was from _you_. 

He shifts, just slightly to adjust, that gets his arms to tighten around you for a split second. Your jaw clenches as you struggle to hide the hitch in your breath and the pool of arousal flooding between your legs. 

“Y-yeah.” You finally answer, swallowing thickly. His adam’s apple bobs as he does the same, and that gets your body tingling with a familiar sensation that has your eyes widening. “I think I’m tired now.”

The second those words escape your lips you want to take them back. His eyes fall as he shakes his head and chuckles, looking shyly down as he sighs. He unwraps himself from you and holds his hand out for you to take. It takes you a moment, still reeling from—well from whatever the hell _that_ was. 

Now it feels awkward. You both can’t keep your eyes on each other, looking anywhere’s else like it’s fucking interesting. You gotta stop this. 

“Than—”

“Can I—”

You both say at the same time. Bucky’s soft, harmonic—in your very humble opinion—chuckle joins yours and you shake your head to clear away the fuzziness clouding your brain. 

“Sorry, uh what were you going to say?”

Bucky hesitates, and there’s something in his eyes that tells you that he’s nervous. It worries you, and instinct takes over to walk to him and comfort him. 

“No it’s—,” he inhales sharply. “It’s okay. We can talk about it tomorrow, when you’re more… _awake_.”

“I’m plenty coherent, Bucky.” You scoff. “Just tell me. I’m your friend.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes; it goes without the same brightness that usually greets you and that makes your stomach drop and your heart clench with an uncomfortable grip. 

“I know.” He says softly. Then his eyebrow raises in a mischievous arch. “Need me to walk you to your room?”

This time it’s you who hesitates. On any other circumstance, you would’ve immediately said yes and that would be that; no awkwardness, no tension or—or whatever the fuck is going on between the two of you. 

“Um… yeah. Yeah s-sure.”

You curse yourself mentally and berate yourself to keep it together. The walk back is quicker than the walk to the training room, and a part of you is entirely grateful for it. Bucky stays close as he paddles softly through the hall until your door is in sight, and you’re standing with one hand on the handle while chewing on your bottom lip. Now what?

“Goodnight,” he says your name softly, so softly you can barely hear him. 

“Goodnight Buck.” You whisper back. 

He gives you one last smile and walks away, and as simple and normal as this is, it feels wrong. Like he shouldn’t be walking away, because there’s something obviously going on between the two of you and you have no idea how—well, you know one way—to fix it because you’re a goddamn coward and that smile isn’t the same smile he gives you.

You lean against your bedroom door as it shuts. Your eyes sting with unshed tears and the aching pressure between your legs is long gone, but the evidence of it sticks to your panties. Ignoring it, you hop onto your bed and fling yourself against your lush pillows, and the rest of the morning is spent with you staring at the tv screen overthinking every interaction you ever had with the man responsible for your turmoil, and fall asleep with frustration seeping through your veins.

When you come to, early afternoon you think, the ache in your pussy is too much to ignore and you cum with Bucky’s name a sigh from your ecstasy. It’s the first time you do. 

–

“You look…better.”

“Thank you.”

“So what was the trick?”

_I masturbated thinking about my best friend._ “Training. With Bucky.”

That gets her eyebrows rising up as she _ahhh’s_ at you. “How are things between the two of you?”

“Good.” You feign. “Really good, actually.”

“Mhmmm.”

“I’m serious.”

“Just fuck already.”

“Wanda—”

“Seriously, I’m getting pretty sick of watching you mope around like this. You’ve got to talk to him.”

You sigh through your nose, throwing your head back against the couch cushion. “I know.” You groan. “It’s just—I don’t know _how_ , you know? I mean, what if this ruins our entire friendship? I can’t…I can’t _live_ with that.”

Wanda purses her lips and rubs your shoulder comfortably. “I know,” she coos. “But don’t think you’ll feel better getting it off your chest? How do you know that he doesn’t feel the same way?”

A pause. “No.” Yes. Another pause. “And no.” One more. “How did this happen?” 

She understands what you mean when you say it in a whine. She opens her mouth and is about to reply when—

“Did what happen?”

You freeze, eyes going wide as Wanda stares back in equal horror; you also detect the glint in her green eyes that spells nothing but trouble for you. 

“She just agreed to have a movie night with Vis and I. My pick, which she’s still sulking about.” She throws in, so casually that you’re kind of surprised _and_ impressed. “We were just talking about asking you to join us.”

You should’ve seen this coming. Really, you should have. It pisses you off. 

_‘Calm down.’_ Her voice whispers in your head, a skill she’s been working on. _‘I’m sorry, but this is for your own good.’_

“Yeah?” Bucky says, all rich honey. “When?”

You roll your lips and force a smirk as you turn towards him. “Tonight, around nine.” If she was going to force you into this and pick the movie, you wanted to at least have some control over this situation. 

His eyes meet yours and the crinkles around them washes away the annoyance that was starting to build. He nods while shoving his hands into his jeans pockets and grins towards Wanda. 

“Alright. Pick a good movie, would ya?”

Wanda laughs. “I will!”

Your fingers twinkle in a wave as Bucky awkwardly waves back. Once you’re sure he’s gone and out of earshot, you nudge Wanda’s leg with your foot. “What the _hell_ was that?” You hiss. 

“Oh hush,” she clicks her tongue. “I just gave you an opportunity, and who knows maybe something good will happen, and you’ll be thanking me after you fuc—”

“Alright alright I get it!” You stop her, a part of you still scared that anyone will just waltz in and hear. “I’ll stop complaining under one condition.”

“Okay.” She says suspiciously with narrowed eyes. 

“I get to pick the movie.”

—

Your legs hurt. 

Curled up crookedly under your blanket, back at an awkward angle as you stare at the moving faces and listen to the screams as they run through the forest. 

The Blair Witch Project has always been one of your favorites, and you figure there’s no sex, no nudity, nothing that could put you in a weird position with the man you can’t stop thinking about sitting right next to you on the plushy loveseat. Yeah, why not?

But of course, Wanda had to be Wanda, and insisted that the two of you lounge on the small couch while her and Vision take over the other, bigger one. As if they needed the space. 

Bucky, although, doesn’t seem to sense your discomfort, and if he does he’s kept quiet about it. He seems just as stiff as you are, but more relaxed and attentive. 

It’s been almost an hour of this. 

There’s a little giggle from the couple to your left, and when you look over you see Wanda putting her finger to her lips, shushing Vision as she holds in more of her laughter. 

Glad she’s having fun. 

_Stop it. You’re doing this to yourself._

You let out a soft sigh and shuffle to your right, closer to Buck as you gingerly uncurl your legs and sit them criss cross. _Much_ better. You can pay attention to the movie better now that you’re more comfortable, so lost in the panic on the screen that you don’t hear him move but rather feel the brush of his thigh against your knee. 

Once you realize it you decide to ignore the onslaught of the electric shock rushing through your core—it’s embarrassing that a touch of his leg of all things gets you going. 

_Bang!_

You gasp and jump, gripping onto the first thing your flying hands find. It happens to be Bucky, naturally. 

“Sorry!” Wanda whispers yells. 

You roll your eyes with a loud, annoyed sigh and settle back into the loveseat. Your hands still grip onto his bicep, and it’s his subtle clear of the throat that brings your attention to it.

“Sorry.” You flinch and let go of him. 

“It’s okay.” He sounds off, a little dejected. 

You’re about to over analyze it—because that’s what you do best—when Bucky scooches closer to you and hands his arm up to rest on the back of the couch, the tips of his fingers barely reaching your shoulder. Willing yourself to relax and focus, you don’t notice the side glances he’s throwing you or the hushed whispers of your friend, who is no longer paying attention to the movie at all, but rather at you and Bucky. 

“We’re gonna turn in.” Wanda announces. 

Your mouth opens in a small _o_ as you stare at her in disbelief. “Are you sure?” It’s hard to hide the plea. “It’s almost at the end!”

Vision gives you an apologetic shrug and mouths ‘sorry’ as Wanda drags him away by his hand. “Yeah, we’re sure. Don’t have too much fun without me!” Her accent thrums with pure tease and you can only blubber like an idiot while watching them disappear to their room. 

“Well,” Bucky sighs and shifts lower until he’s more comfortable. “Just us.”

“Hm.”

You don’t mean to sound so annoyed. You can tell it hurts his feelings because his arm moves back to his side, effectively putting more space between you. Your heart clenches at the fact that you’re the one doing this, no one else, and seeing him now, eyebrows furrowed and teeth gnawing at his bottom lip as his leg starts to bounce anxiously, makes you feel even worse. 

“I think I’m going to bed, too.” Bucky says. 

He stands up before you can say something, though you’re not exactly sure _what_ you want to say to him; there’s so much and your brain is in too much of a scramble of self wallowing and fear that it’s hard to put them coherently together. 

“Goodnight.” He doesn’t say your name, or give you your smile. An awkward wave and heavy steps is all you get, and when they become more faint do you curse yourself and fight the stupid tears clogging your throat as you sit there in the dark. 

–

It’s been a week since that night. 

Wanda, much to your relief, has left you alone about Bucky, but you know with every look when he enters the room that she’s still thinking about it; still scolding you for not taking the leap of faith into what could lead to so much more. To be honest, you don’t blame her; you’d be doing the same if you knew she’d be happy. 

This time it’s so bad that the rest of the team starts to notice yours and Bucky’s sudden thrift. Steve, bless him, has been the most frequent next to Wanda. 

_“You know you can tell me anything Buck,” Steve’s voice rang through the empty room._

_This was the night after the movie incident. Restless once again, you decided to punch out your feelings and frustrations at two in the morning with the hope that you would be alone. You almost walked in on them, not paying attention, when you heard him._

_“I know.” Bucky said. “But I’m telling you, it’s not going to happen. There’s nothing there.”_

_Your heart leapt in your chest and your stomach dropped. Somehow, you knew they were talking about you._

_“What do you mean?” Steve asked; you imagine he did so while crossing his arms._

_A bang, followed by a grunt. “Nothing. Just as I said it.”_

_A stab deep in your heart with a jagged edge made your knees nearly buckle._

_“Buck—“_

_“Listen punk,” Bucky interrupted. “I know you’re just looking out for me and I appreciate it, but I don’t want to…I want—“_

_“I’m sorry to interrupt,” FRIDAY interjects robotically. “But I’m afraid Rogers has a call waiting for him and it’s very urgent.”_

_You heard Steve sigh and something moved or fell, but you hurried away before you could get caught._

Ever since, you can’t get those words out of your head. They play over and over like a broken record, chasing you to insanity. 

_Why oh why did FRIDAY have to say something?_

It was like a sign from the universe itself. Whether it was good or bad, you weren’t quite sure yet.

Tonight is a particularly warm night, which you’re not complaining about, especially with Stark’s AC. It looks to be another night of staring blankly into space until you get tired of that; covers thrown haphazardly across the room, cool air breezing against your bare skin, a new set of dark bags under your eyes brewing. A typical night for you. 

This time you debate on whether you should move. It’s getting old, just sitting here but you’re too afraid of running into—well into _anyone_ at this point. You just don’t think you have the energy for it. 

So you decide on sitting by your window and watching the cars drive by, lights flashing through the busy city. Count the stars that barely shine through in the dark sky, too many city lights blocking out the natural brightness. Finally, after several long and agonizing minutes, you throw on a pair of shorts and quietly open the door, peering at the hallways to the best of your ability without any light with ears straining to detect any type of sound no matter big or small, and once you’re satisfied that you’re alone you close the door and blink. 

Where to this time?

You could try the training room again, but the last time makes you hold out on that. The living room maybe? Kitchen? Game room? 

Suddenly it hits you, and you want to wack yourself on the head for not thinking of this sooner. Quickly tiptoeing back to your room, you grab the fluffiest blanket you own and wrap it around yourself. 

You usually prefer taking the elevator up, too lazy for the stairs, but it’s too late for that so, stairs it is. Thankfully, it’s not that many flights and when the first breeze of fresh, cool air hits your skin you immediately sigh and inhale deeply. The night is filled with miscellaneous noises of the common city, but after being here for so long you’re more than used to it. You can see the moon now, hiding behind slivers of a dark cloud, and to your right a gruff, 

“What’re you doing up here?”

It’s not unwelcoming, just a question out of curiosity. You turn to him, shocked to find him up here. 

“Uh.” You drawl, mouth hanging open as you think of something to say. “Well—well I…” Why is this so hard?

“Why are _you_ up here?” You ask instead, wrapping the blanket tighter around you. 

Bucky shifts in the lawn chair—a cheap brand that creaks a little under his weight—and offers you a timid smile. “Don’t you remember?”

You shuffle through your memories, trying to understand the meaning behind his question. He’s patient with you, even shuffling deeper into his stance as you stare quizzically at him. What the fuc––oh. Oh you know what he’s talking about now. 

“Oh Jesus Bucky I’m––” you run a palm over your face in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to say sorry for,” he assures you. 

But you do. You do because he’s your friend, one of your _best_ friends even, and with all of this going on, he deserves to have a good friend. 

So it makes you feel terrible that you forgot the quite frankly huge significance of this roof, and even more specifically the very spot he’s sitting in right now; this is where he goes when he has nightmares. When he wants to be alone. This is where your friendship started. 

_You had snuck up to the roof in the middle of one of Tony’s parties, clad in a simple short blue dress and an armful of drinks and snacks for yourself._

_It wasn’t that you weren’t having fun, you were never one to turn down a good party. But that night you had just wanted a little alone time, and the roof was one of your sanctums of escape from the world and its responsibilities._

_Balancing everything awkwardly and praying that you wouldn’t have to bend down and pick any of them up, you finally twisted and pushed the door unceremoniously._

_It should’ve banged against something with the amount of force you excurted—out of pure annoyance—but instead it was stopped by flashy, shiny fingers, curled against the rim of the door with quiet clicks._

_“Fuck!” You gasped. “I’m sorry, didn’t know anyone was up here.”_

_Bucky stared down at you wearily, eyes full of surprise and wonder as he eyed you up and down, particularly taking in the overflowing variousity of items in your arms._

_“Yeah,” he grunted. “Just needed…to get away for a moment.”_

_At this point you already knew how Bucky was with large crowds; you didn’t blame him for coming here, especially on warm summer nights such as this._

_“Yeah,” you repeated. “Me too.” You looked down at your feet, shifting your weight. “Do you… would you like to join me?”_

_He froze. The blood to your cheeks was prominent, you could feel that from the heat of it. You shifted again, lifting a foot to help shove a box back into your arms._

_“Okay.”_

_You smiled then, bright and toothy. “Here,” Bucky said, reaching for the snacks. “Let me get that.”_

That night was filled with nothing but small talk and laughter, and it was one of the best nights of your life in a long, long time. From then on, you and Bucky grew closer and closer until you started to dream about riding his cock until he screamed your name and you started to push him away. 

“Buck.” You sigh, shaking the perverted thoughts away. 

“Just come here,” he says, reaching his hand out. “I want you to see something.”

You hesitate, but only for a split second before you find yourself walking towards him. His eyes, grey tonight, bare deep into yours like he’s trying to see into your soul; to figure you out, more likely.

Once you’re within hand’s reach he gently tugs at your blanket and your heart skips a beat at the sheer… _domestically_ of such a minuscule motion. He tugs again, gesturing with a tilt of his head to the armrest. 

“That chair is gonna break as soon as I sit on it.” You argue. 

“It’s not,” he defends gently. 

He still senses your hesitance and clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Can I—?” He scrunches his eyebrows and carefully wraps his arm around your waist, guiding you to the left side of him. You let him guide your body until you’re half seated on his lap, legs practically curled over his thighs while his arm stays wrapped around you. 

The heat from his body is searing, even through the extra layers of fluff you have on you. His breath ghosts over your cheek, casting a whiff of something sweet and minty on his breath. The hard, metal muscles dig into your back, although not uncomfortably, but enough for you to have to fight the urge to rub your thighs together at the thought of his arm tightening around you as he pounds into you—

“Look up.” He suddenly whispers in your ear, husky and deep. It causes a delectable shiver to run down your body and your pussy clenches around nothingness. 

_Keep it together._

Bucky must mistake it as you being cold because he pulls you tighter against him, which for you only makes it harder to control your thoughts. Your heart pounds and your ankles cross to try and relieve the increasing pressure growing in your pussy; thank goodness you brought your blanket out here. 

You finally muster your eyes to follow his pointed finger and squint. “What am I looking at?”

He shifts a little more to the left. Closer to you. “There.”

You try to ignore the way his words literally hit your lips. A brush of his breath that feels like an imprint on your pink flesh and gets your mouth watering; you start to wonder what he tastes like. 

“That?” You stick your hand out to the pointed stars. 

“You know what that is?”

Your eyebrows furrow as you think. You’re not an expert in astronomy by no means, but you took a few classes back in the day, and somehow this piece of information resonates high and mighty in your memories. 

“No.” You say before you can stop yourself. 

He smiles again, that toothy smile that you love. “Cygnus. The swan, I believe. Mostly comes out during summer months and it forms this triangle,” he traces the stars. “See?”

And _that_ is why you said no. The way he describes it, giddy and excited because he learned something new and he’s telling you…you hate yourself even more for the way you’ve been trying to avoid him. 

“It’s beautiful.” You murmur. 

Bucky hums in agreement. Your eyes scan for any more constellations, but you can feel him staring at you. You want to look down, your neck is even starting to strain from it, but you just… 

He says your name. It comes out a whisper, and he sounds… scared. You slowly, very slowly, look down and find a swirl of gray and blue. Facing him like this makes you realize you’re closer to him than you thought; tilt your head a little down and you’d be kissing him. 

As if he read your mind, he licks his lips and, unconscious or not, you start to lean forward. 

This is it.

Bucky’s leaning up and holy shit you’re about to—

“Hey, lovebirds!”

The both of you jump and turn towards the intrusion, you with shock and Bucky, a murderous glare. Both his arms are around you, as if to shield you from the outsider. 

“Emergency meeting.” Tony smirks. “I don’t like it either but,” he shrugs. “Duty calls. Let’s go.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches out of your peripheral vision, and you find yourself filled with the same agitation because _fuck_ you were so fucking close. 

“We should go.” You tell him, like it’s not obvious that the moment is already ruined. 

“ _Yeah_.” Bucky grits out.

You miss the safety of his arms as soon as you leave them. 

–

This time you find him on purpose. 

You start by going to his room. It’s late, but not too late this time. You knock softly against the door once, then twice and wait. 

“Bucky?” You call out softly. 

A sharp, defined meow answers you back from the otherside. You grin and give the knob a try, twisting it open slowly as you glance around the room. 

“Buck?” You try again. 

Alpine, Bucky’s white feline, greets you with a purr and rubs against your legs. You bend down with a coo and pick him up, scratching his head as he closes his eyes and continues to purr. 

“Where’s your daddy?” You whisper to the cat.

He meows like he understands you, making you chuckle. The cool floor feels nice against your bare feet this time, a nice contrast to the heat flaring through the summer air. Alpine settles himself in your arms as you search for Bucky. Everything is quiet, no signs of anyone up and moving around, and you start to wonder if Bucky is up on that roof again when you walk by the kitchen. There’s a dark figure by the corner of your eye, but you don’t register it until Alpine starts squirming and you do a double take. 

“Hey.” You put Alpine down. 

Bucky nods at you and follows Alpine with his eyes as the cat rubs up against his owner, adding an arch to his spine. 

“I was looking for you.” You explain when Bucky doesn’t say anything. 

“Hmm.” He hums nonchalantly. 

You nod, because you don’t know what you want to say now that you have him and twindle your fingers together. This is… a lot harder than you expected it to be. 

“Soo,” you start out. “How… are you?”

He shrugs. “‘M alright.”

Okay. You got that out of the way. Now let’s— 

“Let’s go to my room.” 

He’s whizzing past you before you can even blink, Alpine in tow. It takes you a moment before your muscles move and you’re following him. Your heart thuds wildly against your ribcage and you take a deep breath when his door comes into view. 

Bucky has always been in a state between organized and messy. Most days you can’t even call it an organized mess, it’s more separate if you can make any sense of it. You’re reminded of this as soon as you walk in, stepping over a t-shirt and combat boots. “Sorry, sorry.” Bucky mumbles as he quickly ducks down to pick them up. The rest of his room is about the same, but it’s not too bad to make a big deal of. 

“Can’t really sleep.” He offers an explanation. 

“ _Ah_.” You nod. “You got my problem now.”

He smirks mischievously and it shamefully sends a wave of blazing arousal through your body, ending at the pulsing ache quivering in need. 

“It seems I do, doll.”

Is this—is this a double entendre? Is Bucky messing with you right now? Enjoying the way you’re trembling with a hold that’ll give everything away? 

If so, he’s doing a fantastic job.

“So,” you clear the lodge in your throat. “S-so do you want to, uh, train? Like last time?” Okay, that might not be such a good idea—you won’t be able to control yourself then, you’re positive of it—but you genuinely do want to help him, so you’re willing to fight your animalistic pulses for the sake of your friend. No that—that doesn’t sound right. Just calling him your friend. Now, it’s leaving a distaste in your mouth. 

He sits down on the edge of his bed—dark covers that match the aesthetics of his personality—and plants his elbows on his knees as he, dramatically you have to add, thinks thoughtfully with a slight pout to his perfect lips. 

“Push ups.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Alright?”

“But I’m gonna need a little help.”

He leans forward, just a bit more, and—and maybe it’s just your uncontrollable imagination—his eyes are dark and blown wide. 

Okay, your pussy is throbbing now, the pulse achingly worse in your clit. “O-okay.” You lick your dry lips. 

His smirk widens and stretches to put his cup onto his nightstand, making his shirt pull up, showing you a sliver of chiseled abs on his toned stomach. 

_Holy fuck._ You’re not going to make it. 

Bucky catches your eye before he gets down on the carpet, the muscles in his back straining deliciously and mouth watering as he stretches his legs out and holds himself up by his palms. 

“Sit on my back.”

“Wha—” You sputter with a slight giggle. “What just…just _sit_ on you?”

“On my back, yes.” Bucky teases and glances up at you. “It’ll tire me out faster.”

It makes sense. Logically. And he does have more of an immunity than most. But you just can’t help but feel that this is part of a game of his, thinking of any and every way to torture you and watch you squirm in your helpless state. 

You’re silent as you take short steps towards his crouched form and place a hand steadily on his broad shoulder. You check on his face, still as lucid and beautiful as ever, and carefully settle your weight atop his. 

“Good?” You ask. 

“Yes, so you can relax sweetheart.” He says without a strain. So you do as he says, sitting more comfortably on him and crossing your legs. 

He bends his elbows and leans down, your fingers automatically gripping his shirt to gain more balance, and pushes himself back up at a steady pace, barely a noise coming from him. Each time he moves you feel his muscles stretch and tighten beneath you; you have to bite your lip to stop from digging your nails into his skin. 

Alpine watches as Bucky continues the workout, all the while you’re sitting on him wondering just what you’re supposed to do other than sit here, anything to clear your head and appease the burning ache coursing through you.

“ _Say_ something.” He grunts.

“Like what?” You scoff despite yourself. 

“I don’t know, talk about anything.” Up, down. A heavy breath. “Count for me then.”

“I don’t know how much you’ve done already.”

“Ten.” He answers immediately. Up. Down. “Eleven.” Up. Down. “Tw—“

“Twelve.” You interject with a mimicking tone. “Thirteen…fourteen…fifteen…sixteen…”

Up. Down. You highly doubt he’s even breaking a sweat right now as your body hobbles on the muscles of steel. Up. Down. A tick, sounds like from a watch, sounds lowly in the room, but to you it sounds like it’s echoing loudly through your ears. Up. Down. You need to tell him. Up. Down. 

“Alp,” Bucky sighs annoyingly. 

You look over and see the white glob bend its head down by Bucky’s wrist, and when Bucky leans down the cat boops his nose against his and sits. 

“Oh no, _c’mon_.” Bucky complains. “Move.”

He tries to sweep Alpine away with one arm but you’re moving too, not holding on to him and when he leans most of his weight onto his left side, your body goes with it. 

“Woah!” Your hands fly wildly as you attempt to grab onto something. That something happens to be soft and you mistake it for his shirt and pull. 

“Hey—shit _mhm_!”

You freeze. He does too. 

Did that…did that just happen? 

The air is thick, so fucking thick, you’re not sure if you can breathe properly under the weight of it. 

Now what the fuck do you say?

“Um are you—” you’re breathless, like you’ve been the one doing the push ups. “Are you okay?”

He still keeps his stance, Alpine long gone by now towards his bed most likely. You don’t care about that right now. All you can think about is how his arms flex as he keeps you up and how you can see his jaw tick; it shouldn’t turn you on, but that groan does nothing to help you as it echoes through the air silently. 

“Buc—”

There’s a tug on your calf and suddenly the room is a blur. You feel yourself being pulled down and flipped onto your back, and again you brace yourself for impact but it’s—it’s just the soft carpet, and he’s leaning over you, legs between his now open ones with a dangerous look in his eyes that you can’t tear away from. A bead of sweat dribbles down the tip of his nose until it drips down onto your cheekbone, but that’s not even enough to break the spell you’re currently in. It breaks Bucky’s, however, because he curses and wipes the small line from your cheek and wipes the front of his face with an open palm. 

You should say something. A word. Just _something_. He turns back to you and just…looks at you. And you look back. Breaths mix together, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and there’s a battle waging in his mind, you can see that in his eyes; they’re barely recognizable now, no blue or gray. 

“Can I kiss you?”

It takes you a second to register what he said. It’s soft, so fucking quiet and gentle that it pierces straight through your heart. Your stomach erupts in nerves and your legs tighten together on their own accord, pussy fluttering at the question. 

Bucky waits patiently, never once moving a muscle. You lick your lips and that’s when he moves, a flicker of his eyes and a part of his lips. 

You don’t answer him with words. You don’t think you can trust your voice enough to. Don’t think at all, actually. Instead you nod and wait with baited breath as he nods back, leisurely, and starts to lean in. It’s tentative, careful but eager. You never take your eyes off his, only when you feel the soft press of his lips against yours do you indulge yourself. 

The kiss starts off slow. Barely even a kiss, just lips against lips. You crane your neck up and back a little and press harder against him, making him moan softly in the back of his throat and _shit_ that’s one of the most beautiful sounds you ever heard; you need to hear more of it. 

Sensing your eagerness, he presses back and kisses you like you’re sure he did back in the 40’s, slinging every gal and wooing them with just a wink of an eye. His tongue traces the outline of your bottom lip and you open your mouth with a gasp, inviting his curious tongue into your warm crevasse. He sighs at the taste of you, swirling his tongue with yours in a fight you know he’ll win. Your hands lift up and wrap around his shoulders, pushing him down on to you. He presses down on your knee and you spread your legs for him to settle in between.

“Why—” He breaks the kiss, a string of saliva connected to your lips trailing along as you whine from the loss. “Why did we wait so long to do that?”

You giggle, deep and low and he joins in with his own, harmonizing perfectly. “I don’t know,” you say. “That’s sorta my fault, I guess. I just—” you look away shyly. 

Bucky places two fingers underneath your chin, prompting you to look at him. “Didn’t want to risk our friendship.” He finishes for you. 

You nod. Your chest feels lighter now, a new sense of…of an increasing, _raw_ excitement growing inside you. He must feel the same way, too, because he swoops back in for another kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. Your arms flex as you hold him still, running your hand up the nape of his neck and into his locks, gripping a handful of it to stable yourself. Bucky moans again and drops his hips into yours, where you feel the hardening outline of his cock through his sweatpants, grinding purposefully against yours. 

“Bucky,” you gasp, moaning when his lips trail down your jaw and stop at your neck. 

“I’m so sorry we ever waited this long,” he groans into the skin, planting a kiss on your rapid pulse. “You’re so fucking beautiful, малышка.

You don’t understand much Russian, but Bucky has been trying to teach you on and off and this one you understand; babygirl.

“Fuck.” You moan. He sucks a mark on your neck and bites down on it, making you whine and arch your back into him. He pushes back down, and his cock feels impossibly harder and you know he can feel your hot, dripping cunt, too. 

“Please,” you don’t know what you’re begging for. “I-I need…”

“What?” He asks sweetly. When you continue to sputter at him, he gives a hard thrust against your clothed cunt. 

“A- _ah_ fuck.” You keen. 

“Tell me what you want.” He orders. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you. _C’mon_.”

It feels like you can’t breathe. He hasn’t even been inside you yet and you’re already on the edge, chest heaving and thighs quivering with the anticipation. 

Bucky suddenly drops down to his forearms, leaving a searing kiss that has you whimpering for more. “Want me to taste you?” He whispers huskily. “Like I dreamed?” His hands slide under your shirt, skimming against your sides. Your breath catches, caught in your throat as your skin breaks out in goosebumps. “Kiss that pretty pussy of yours? Fuck you with my fingers? Get you alll—“ He palms your breasts and pinches your nipple; you bite down on your lip hard, indents digging sharply through the tender flesh. “—nice and wet for my thick, fat cock? Would you like that, doll?”

Would you like that? You’d fucking kill for it. 

“Yes!” You moan loudly. “Oh please Bucky, _please_.” 

Bucky loves to see you beg. His dick twitches in response in his pants and you dig your nails into his back. 

“Okay baby,” he says against your open mouth. “Get on the bed for me, legs spread.”

You don’t hesitate as soon as he lifts off you. You crawl on the bed with shaky limbs and lay on your back on his pillow; it smells distinctly Bucky, filling your senses with fueled desire. 

Bucky looks at you like you’re fucking _treasure_. Like you’re the sun, the moon, _everything_ to him, and it makes you blush and flutter under the intensity of it. You hold your arms out with a slight pout. 

“Please?”

He huffs a chuckle and reaches behind him to pull his shirt over his head. Your mouth waters at the beautiful specimen before you; you want to kiss the faint scars that littler his body. He pulls down his pants next but keeps his boxers on, the outline of his hard cock prominent and strained through the fabric; if it’s bothering him, he’s doing a pretty good job at hiding it. 

Bucky crawls towards you, slow and with a curve, like a predator capturing its prey. You reach out for him and grab his shoulders, pulling him towards you for a kiss. His lips, slightly chapped but otherwise soft, move against yours in perfect synchrony, as if your bodies are already so in tune with each other. He breaks the kiss, diving back to lick your top lip, and slides the palm of his hands back up under your shirt, this time pulling the fabric with him. You help him slide the shirt off and throw it casually across the room; your nipples perk under his wandering and trumpeting gaze. 

“ _Fuck_ , doll,” he whispers. 

Before you can react he leans down and envelopes your nipple in his mouth, tongue swirling around the perky bud. You gasp and hold his head to your chest while his hands grip down on your hips, hard enough to where you know there’s going to be bruises. He bites down on the bud, causing you to roll your hips against his and your toes to curl. 

“ _Bucky_.” You whisper, just because he’s all you can see and feel and smell…

He lets go of your breast with a pop and trails his kisses down the valley between your breasts and to your stomach, stopping at the pant line. 

“Yes.” You say before he can ask. “Please, Bucky. I _need_ you to touch me.”

“I already am, sweetheart.” He replies innocently. 

You don’t want to argue right now. “ _James_.”

He laughs and dips his fingers inside the waistband, the cool metal making you shiver. “You know,” he says as he drags your pants down your legs at an agonizing pace. “I kinda like it when you say my name like that.”

You chuckle, but it comes out weird and without much air. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He bites your hip bone, making your hips jump and your pussy clench. “James.”

Keeping your eyes on him—somehow, you know that he wants you to keep watching him—Bucky licks the very same spot he just bit and catches his teeth on the lining of your panties, pulling back and tugging at the flimsy fabric. The act alone almost makes you cum. 

You moan lowly and lift your hips to help him pull them down your legs, kicking them off once they’re at your ankles. 

“Jesus.” He murmurs, his breath hot against your pussy; if it weren’t for his broad shoulders, you would’ve closed your legs to relieve the pressure. “You’re fucking _dripping_ , baby. Did I do that to you?”

You swallow and open your mouth, but no words come out. It’s like your brain is short circuiting, cut off from oxygen. Bucky grimaces and slaps your thigh with his flesh hand, making you cry out. 

“Answer me.”

“Y-yes.” You stutter. “Fuck, Bucky _yes_ , only you.”

He grins and kisses the top of your pubic mound, gripping your thighs tighter and scooching closer to the bed. “Gonna taste you.” He whispers, almost as if he was talking to himself rather than you. 

You wiggle your hips impatiently, waiting for him. You think he might slap you again if you continue moving, so you will yourself to relax and…and wait. Because he can’t stop fucking staring at you, and kissing everywhere but where you _want_ him the most and it’s so frustrating you’re going to cry. 

“Pl-EASE!”

His hot, wet tongue slides up the strip of your folds and settles around your clit, circling the sensitive bundle. You preen into his mouth and clutch at the bedsheets, already writhing against him. He immediately throws an arm—his right one—over your lower stomach and pins your hips down, preventing you from moving an inch away or towards him; you’re completely under his will. 

Bucky explores the velvety slit of your pussy, humming all the while like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. The groans that are escaping you doesn’t _sound_ like you, doesn’t _feel_ like they’re coming from you, but they are and it finally catches up to you—James Buchannon Barnes, your friend, best friend, your _co-worker_ , is eating your pussy like there’s no tomorrow. 

“Oh _fu_ —” He nips carefully at your clit. You can’t focus. Not on your words, your surroundings, _nothing_ but Bucky and the sensations he’s bring you. Every lick and suck on your pussy has you keening into his unbreakable hold, whining and clutching the sheets until you’re sure you’re going to tear right through them. This is too much, way too _fucking_ much but you’re so close, so desperate for him, that you’ll—

He slurps lewdly and loudly, making you throw your head back and choke on a moan. “Bu-Bucky I—I need…”

He pulls back just slightly enough to say, “I know.” And he shifts, getting ready to switch arms. 

No. Oh no no no no. 

Your hand darts out and stops him. Gulping, you wordlessly place his flesh arm back on your stomach and reach for his metal fingers. Bucky’s eyes widen as soon as he figures it out and stares at you like you’ve just grown a second head. 

“R-really?” He asks indubely. “You want me to— _Jesus_ baby you— _fuck_.”

“ _Please_.” You whine. “I can take it.”

He—he _snarls_ and buries his face back into your weeping pussy, attaching his lips around your clit. You gurgle out a low curse and feel his cold fingers prod at your gaping entrance. 

“You sure?” He asks cautiously. 

“If you don’t I will literally—OH!” One thick, wide finger breaches through your hole and slides into your cunt with ease, curling as soon as he’s knuckle deep. Your body spasms, like you’ve just been electrocuted, and your fingers curl in his hair. 

“Taste fucking delicious,” he begins to babble. “Sweet like candy. Nevr’ gonna get enough of it, doll, _never_.” He pumps his finger in and out of you, curling each time he slides back in, brushing up against your sweet spot. After a few pumps, he dips another in, stretching you. 

“Bucky I’m—” The coil in your lower stomach tightens, your pussy fluttering against his fingers painfully, but in a way that’s _everything_ pleasurable. “Oh fuck I’m gonna c-cum.”

His lips are around your clit again, fingers pumping faster now to the point where you can hear the squelches from your cunt, and without any warning he sucks. Hard. 

“Fuckfuck _fuck_.” It comes out of you without preamble, mindless babbling that doesn’t even make sense at all. Your thighs cage his head, shaking and quivering as your orgasm approaches. “I’m g-go-gonna—” Your pussy clenches harshly around his thick digits and you’re gone. White flashes behind your eyelids, a numbness searing through your entire core as you shake and gush around his fingers, and a strange sound emanates through the room again; you don’t have to question who it is. 

Bucky works you through your release, moaning and lapping at everything you have to give him. Eventually you come down when it becomes too painful to bear and you push his head away from you. Giving your clit one last kiss that makes you whimper, he stands up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking down at you all the matter. 

“You did so good, baby.” He praises you; you shutter, legs jumping slightly as your body flexes. “Gonna let me fuck you? _Huh_ , babygirl?”

You’ll let this man do _anything_ to you. Your limbs feel like jello, but find enough strength to keep your legs open and open your arms invitingly to him. He makes a show of pulling his boxers down, your eyes following the patch of dark hair and _bulges_ at the long, thick cock that slaps against the hard plains of his stomach, precum smearing from the red angry tip. Next time—and you really fucking hope there will be a next time—you’re going to put him in your mouth. 

“Like what you see?” There’s more of that cocky, playboy Bucky Barnes you’ve heard so much about. 

“Yes.” You answer honestly. “Kiss me.”

The bed shifts slightly and creaks under his weight as he crawls towards you and locks his lips with yours; you can still taste yourself on his lips, sweet and tangly. The tip of his head brushes against your clit as he lays down on top of you, hot and smearing more of his precum across your stomach. 

“Fuck me,” you moan into him. 

Bucky groans lowly and you reach down to grab his cock; it’s hot, thick enough to where your fingers don’t reach and pulsing in your hand. “Shit.” He hisses, hips stuttering in your grasp. 

Nex time, you’re going to tease him, too; give him a piece of his own medicine. You would now, but this has been a long time coming and you’re tired of waiting, so you line him up at your entrance and keep your hand on him as he slowly pushes in. 

He moans your name the same time you moan his, looking down to watch himself sink into your warm depths. He stops when he’s balls deep, and you feel so full that you’re positive the tip of him is about near your cervix. 

“Bucky.” You wiggle beneath him. “ _Move_.”

“I got you, princess.” He croaks. “I got you.”

Pushing himself down on his forearms, Bucky pulls out painfully slow, his dick already wet and slick with your juices, and pushes back in. You roll your hips into his thrusts, taking him deeper. Every single muscle in his body flexes under your touch as you wrap your arms around his back, rolling into you with perfect thrusts that hits a spot deep inside you. You're too wired, too engrossed with the fact that it’s _him_ , that your still overly sensitive pussy clenches around his cock. 

“Baby,” his voice presses sweet and deep in his throat as he gasps. “I’m not— _fuck_ I’m sorry I-I’m not—”

“It’s okay.” You tell him breathlessly, pressing your forehead against his and giving his lips a quick peck. “Just _fuck_ me, Bucky. Use me, like I’ve dreamed of.”

Bucky chokes, eyes wild and neck red, and pulls almost all the way out until the tip is barely in and thrusts back in harshly. You cry out and dig your nails into his bare skin, leaving angry marks in their wake. He grabs your leg and hitches it over his hip, bringing his arm back down to wrap around you. 

“You ever touch yourself thinking about me, doll?” He grits. “Huh? Have you?” 

How—oh Jesus fuck _how_ are you supposed to answer that when he’s fucking you so deep that you can barely remember your own name. Your pussy clenches in answer to what he already knows, and that gets him to grind down at you; the curls of his hair brush heavenly against your clit. “Yeah, you have, haven’t you?”

Pleasure rips through as his hips meet your harder and faster, the slap of skin against skin becoming louder and louder, as is your cries, but you don’t care if the whole fucking _world_ hears you. 

“You’re tight,” he gasps, closing his eyes. “How are you s-so fucking— _fuck_ tight?”

You don’t know if he really wants you to answer that, but the only thing you can do is bring him down to kiss you again, clashing teeth as you moan and cling to him. He breaks the kiss and buries his head in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily. His arms slide back down to grope your ass cheeks and lift your lower half up to meet more of his heavy and hurried thrusts. 

“I’m not going to last much longer,” he warns you in a moan. 

You kiss his neck while your hand slides down his back to grope at his ass—as if you can push him even more deeper inside of you—and you lick his earlobe, tugging at the end with your teeth until he shivers. 

“I want you to cum,” you whisper seductively in his ear. “ _Sergeant_ , please.”

Sergeant. _Sergeant_. You have no idea where it came from, but as soon as the words leave your mouth he growls and starts to _plow_ you, fingers digging into your flesh as his hips snap into yours. 

“Shit. Oh fuck babygirl I can—I _can’t_.” His rhythm falters, your pussy fluttering and clenching around him, trying to get his cock to say within you after each delicious drag against your walls. He whines—a pitiful, deep whine that resonates throughout the shocked nerves—and you can’t—

“I’m cumming.” You manage to break out. “B-buck— _fuck_.”

Your ankles cross around his waist, and it takes his teeth in your neck to have you cry out onto the ceiling as your pussy pulses around him, sucking him in and clenching until your muscles feel spent and sore. 

“Oh _God_ ,” Bucky whimpers and it sends another wave through you, making him sputter and choke as his hips slam into you unevenly. “Shit shit, fuck.”

“Please baby.” You encourage softly. “ _Cum_.”

He abruptly pulls out, your protest lodged in your throat as you feel the hot, thick ropes of cum spurt out onto your stomach. 

“Fuck, _fuck_.” Bucky continues to gasp, his hand flying to his weeping cock and fisting it. 

You moan as a few more land on your chest, painting your body with his pearly white cum; you know it’s over when he starts to slump. Without a second thought, he pushes back into you. “ _Bucky_.” You can only say in slight confusion and pain.

“Sorry, I’m sorry I just—“ he winces as his hips connect with yours again. “—just wanna feel ya. Too good.” He slurs. 

He kisses you then, slow and unhurried unlike earlier. This kiss says so much more in its language, lost in the dance of your lips. He trails his lips up to your forehead and places the softest and faintest of kisses there before settling on your chest. 

You hum and rub his back soothingly. You’re both sweaty and sticky—Bucky doesn’t seem to mind this fact as he presses himself closer to you—and your body is satisfyingly numb and exhausted. _Finally_ exhausted for what seems like ages. 

Once the haze evaporates from your mind, questions start flying: what does this mean for you and Bucky now? When and how do you tell the others? What does this mean for missions? What does—? 

“Stop thinking.” Bucky mumbles, voice covered by the breast he’s laid his head on. “Too loud.”

He’s right. This time, it can wait. 

You smile and whisper an apology, snuggling deeper into the hug. You try to get comfortable, but the sticky evidence is drying uncomfortably on your skin. 

“Bucky,” you sigh. “We gotta shower.”

You feel his nose squint. “Few more minutes.”

You fall asleep before those few minutes are up.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @aint-that-a-mcfreakin-bitch


End file.
